See my Face, Know my Name
by Theraxs
Summary: Destiny is a really weird thing. What some might perceive as prophetic drivel, others take as guiding events. It even has a way of making us look differently at things we thought we knew everything about, casting a new light on facts we may not have known. Such as this; the unbelievable events that transpired 2 B.B.Y., a seemingly normal stormtrooper the unwitting centerpiece.


_'We've conquered interstellar travel, faster-than-light technology, terraforming processes, and live in an economy that has lasted for uncountable millennia,'_ Maz thought to himself as he watched the empty carousal slowly rotate round and round, '_but they still manage to lose your luggage'_

He was standing in the emptying baggage claim section of the ever 'magnificent and lustrous' _Star Tours interstellar travel agency_ in their star port on Macellica. The low-key planet was one of the cheaper options on the scheduled vacation list and didn't honestly hold any interesting features beside the overabundant foliage that grew on the opposite side of the globe as the cityscape. It was for that reason that the Imperial Resource department had chosen it as his enforced leave destination. The price, that is, not the plants.

After a decade of uninterrupted service, the red tape had at last caught up to him and he had been forcibly instructed to take a vacation or risk demotion and subsequent 'inspection'; polite terms for "get your ass out there so we meet our quota." For the career stormtrooper, it was a serious slap to the face and general pain in the ass. The hastily assembled system of personnel maintenance was as shoddy as it had been nineteen years prior at the birth of the galactic empire.

This ran doubly so for clones such as Maz. Tools of a war that was now over, they were at first the soul foundation of the Imperial military, the proud Mandalorian clones serving with as much distinction against uprisings and pockets of IRS resistance as against the full might of the droid army. But the days of glory on the battlefield were long since passed; given rise to the age of civil riots and governmental power plays. It was not the life for a soldier, especially not one literally born to fight.

Heaving an exaggerated breath and running a hand through his barely regulation length black hair, Maz turned on his heel and strode briskly toward the reception area. Amidst these normal civilians, he had managed to blend in fairly well with some clothes borrowed from his regular-human bunkmate back on Station 49, the orbital installation above the moon of Dantooine. The red, long-sleeved shirt and the deep cerulean pants with the white hash marks up the left leg were alright, and the black and yellow shoes weren't that bad, but the brown vest with the snaps weren't exactly a highlight and neither was the worn grey cap that smelt not faintly of perspiration and engine grease.

Holding the hat by his leg where he wouldn't have to be subjected to the odor, the clone edged his way through the backed up crowd of fellow tourists, businessmen and people traveling for 'who actually cares?' reasons. They were almost all here for the same reason as him, the cheapness of the travel arrangements, and the look of them showed it. Grubby rodians were struggling with a massive durasteel chest that may very well contain five more of their kind as two durosians argued in a fast pace with one of the customs officers, brandishing something that looked unpleasantly like the genitals of a large mammal with a fevered gusto.

Steering clear of these and many other displays, Maz sidled up to the information desk, squeezing around an oddly extravagant gamorrean to address the desk girl. Instead of springing for an AI, or even a droid, _Star Tours_ had hired a maroon skinned zeltron female to plaster on a smile and deal with the unending barrage of space-lagged travelers and mothers with multiple amounts of screaming babies.

"Hello sir and thank you for choosing _Star Tours Intergalactic Vacations_, we appreciate your trust and patronage in our company. What can I do for you today?"

Her words were as cheap and well-used as synthplastic, equally as transparent. Maz could see the wrinkles around her eyes that testified to a long and taxing shift, a trait her species seemed to share with most near-humans. For a zeltron to work in a place of such frustration and nervousness must have meant a daily case of nausea for the empathetic girl, most likely subdued by medication or liquor, whichever was easier to obtain in copious amounts. Deciding the empathy could use some more mellow company, Maz opted to postpone his complaints about the missing baggage.

"You alright?" He asked levelly, leaning an elbow against the counter to offer a semblance of a casual demeanor and get close so their words weren't picked up by either the other customers or the not so discreetly placed security monitor overhead. She must have picked up on the glacial cool calm he was maintaining since she let out an exaggerated sigh of her own. Her posture slumped for a moment, showing all of the tension behind her public façade.

"I really wish people would figure out that I'm not a complaints department. All they do is whine about the trip over or the bad food or the smell. Can't they just be glad they are visiting a new planet and enjoy the experience?" She felt his skepticism and rolled her eyes. Brushing some of her onyx and amethyst highlighted hair from out of her eyes, she typed something into her small desktop console before looking back up at him. "ID please."

From his pocket he produced the demi-holographic voucher he had been issued at the start of this shore leave and passed it over the lip of the desk for her inspection. Running the tag beneath a laser scanner, she skimmed over the information that popped up.

"Military huh? We don't get many of your kind around here."

'_I couldn't possibly wonder why,_' Maz sardonically quipped inwardly, trying not to let it on through his emotional undertones.

"Well you've been scheduled for our 'care package' level experience." The look on her face confused him.

"Is that bad?"

"Depends on how you look at it," he replied, not looking up from her screen scrolling. "Do you enjoy very bland housings and complete lack of special attention?"

"I'm a stormtrooper; I experience those conditions every day if I'm lucky." He didn't like flaunting his position, but every now and again he lapsed into civilian conversations patterns. It was a consequence of his years amongst straight-human troopers and minimal contact with fellow clones, even those of his generation. After years away from the now decommissioned facilities on Kamino, even the ingrained training could wear off if not maintained.

"Then I guess you'll love it then. We've booked a room for you at the "Gre'enian Hotel", and there is already a message for you at the local console. Is this your serial code?" She turned the digi-display for him to read the five character input and he nodded acceptance. "I'll forward it to the terminal on your room. When you get there, just tell the clerk that you're room 131 and you should be set." A strip of plastic jumped out from a small crease in the side of the desk and she pulled it free and extended it towards him, revealing it to be a business card. "As the ones responsible for your enjoyment while on Macellica," she started, all fake smiles again though it was for the benefit of the camera alone, "we will always be ready to help you out. Just contact that number and you will be directed to a receptionist such as me. Those are the hours that I'm at station. My name is Banina."

"Thanks," Maz pocketed the card and nodded towards her as he stepped towards the exit.

"Oh! One more thing," Banina called after him, annoying the other people around the desk. Turning, Maz saw that the zeltron was holding up a fist sized piece of dull metal. Walking back, he accepted the sphere, realizing that it was actually a deactivated remote droid with the stinger blasters removed. "Use this to find your way around the city. Don't forget to return it when your visit is over."

"Thanks," the clone trooper reiterated before again heading for the exit, the remote clutched loosely in the hand not holding the cap. Passing beyond the sliding doors and into the open air of Macellica. He was in a partially opened hallway that led to an elevator that would bring him down to the street one hundred and seventeen meters below. The walls were clear, so he got a pretty good view of the surrounding area as he walked. Already he could see that this was the medium end of town, where the partially successful lived and worked. The higher ups and rich money's probably had their own spaceport so as to avoid intermingling with the 'rabble' of everyone else.

The slums were actually visible from the elevated position, a nearly perfect line in the buildings seceral kilometers away where everything was unanimously in disrepair and degradation, most often patched up with mismatched colored sheets of durasteel. That was where the destitute scrounged a living and the criminally minded flourished, or as much as they possibly could in their surroundings. While it was too far away to be seen from here, he had noticed the gap between the middle class zone and the classier rich side while the shuttle had been landing; a barren exspanse of a full kilometer that looked more like he kill0zone of a prison than an economical distinction. The wealthy here were as vainglorious as the ones on Coruscant.

As Maz stepped onto the half-full turbolift and started his descent towards street level, he ran over the city layout in his mind, covering the weak spots and defendable positions he had memorized from the maps he had downloaded before he had left S-49, simulating a military attack in his mind and trying to find the best chance of survival and completing the mission; in this case, survival. It was the unshakable influence of his Kamino training that caused him to do this. Still sharp after everything else had dulled, the highly honed strategic edge that most of his brethren inherited from the legendary bounty hunter and last of the Mandalorians Jango Fett, though his freedom of thought wasn't so widely spread.

He had often felt that the level of free will he maintained was in large part due to the Clone Wars ending when it did. He had only been in an embryonic form when the Separatists conceded defeat to the Republic, by then reformed into the Empire as he knew it. With the requirement for ready soldiers diminished greatly, the kamionians readjusted their procedure of tank breeding, altering the training methods that enforced the subliminal loyalty to the government and the highest level of authority, and, most importantly in his opinion, altering the aging process of those yet birthed. Instead of aging at two or two and a half times that of a normal human, the Jango clones now grew at a rate closer to one and a third, making them more fit for longer service than their predecessors, like Generals Rexx or Cody who looked to be sixty when they were really thirty.

Bouncing slightly when his ride came to an end, Maz filled out of the tubular chute with the others, most of whom were a large family of Mon Calamri, portable hydration units gurgling pleasantly under their bubbly native language. The street was fairly clean when he finally stepped out onto it, looking pretty much like a street from any other city except that this was one of the few with actual pavement and stones making up the surface instead of metal and composites. Originality and uniqueness weren't Macellica's strong points, clearly.

Striding away from the group to get some space to himself, the trooper thumbed the activation button on the remote and let it zoom into the air, hovering a foot above his head and keeping up with him as he walked down the side walk. Commercial speeders passed him by, noise from the hover engines creating a hum that was at room conversation level and drowned out the sounds of the footfalls of Maz and those few who still walked to destinations.

"Remote," he addressed the orb, sparing it an upward glance, "locate the Gre'enian Hotel, visual display only." He didn't want to have the thing chirping in fast paced binary at him when he wouldn't be able to hear everything and require multiple repeats. Dutifully, the remote projected a holographic arrow from its miniature sensor array, just a tiny thing really, but it did the job. Following where the arrow pointed, Maz was guided through the early morning streets in the most direct path towards his temporary accommodations.

Eventually, this meant passing through several back alleys laced with graffiti and loose trash strewn about lazily. Looking at the remote again, he saw that it was directing him towards the back corner of the little passageway where he could see the beginning of another route sprout off from the main body. Looking over it, Maz was annoyed at the programmers for including a walkway that was barely two meters in length into the map. Still, he had faced much worse than this in his time amidst the Empire and during training: he just wished that his vacation could have started a little better if he was going to have to endure it for however long they had set him up for.

Walking down the dim path, Maz listened to the echoes of his steps bouncing back and forth against the walls like a blaster bolt in a magnetically sealed chamber. Presently, he became aware of another set of echoes joining his, and then another, and then yet another. Ahead of him, at the mouth of the alley, two figures were approaching him with a casual gait, the third closing in from behind. They were a human, a grann and a wrinkle faced weequay, all of whom were wearing dark leather coats with patches clumsily heat-fused into the sleeves.

Maz's battle instincts automatically sent a surge of adrenaline into his veins and his fingers trembled from the upsurge in energy, wanting to clutch a weapon that wasn't there. But he had no way of knowing if they were even a threat, and so tried to keep his body from acting without his permission. They continued on, barely sparing him a glance as they drew nearer and nearer. Just as Maz accessed that they were simply passing through, same as him, the grann closed to a halt and crossed his arms, his three-eyed bulk taking up half of the alley. The human next to him leaned bodily against the wall, right over a message in faded green paint that spoke of some kind of musician. The weequay simply stopped in the middle of the path behind Maz, exuding a malevolent air like any street tough would. Maz stopped as well, looking at the two in front of him calmly as could be.

"Now now stranger, no need to rush. We'd like to have a word or three wich' ya'." The human, apparently the leader, spoke with a drawl that Maz found irritating. Eyeing them up, he could tell that the man and the weequay had concealed weapons beneath their jackets, probably knives, while the grann was decidedly unarmed, relying on the physical strength that his species enjoyed to pummel his prey into the dirt. But they might also have a small blaster among them; that threat very real considering their occupation.

"Well, it seems to me that you've gone and wandered onto our turf. Didn't you notice the sign out front?" He chuckled at his own joke, accompanied by the bass timber of his grann buddy and the squeaky pitch of the weequay. "I'm Dostan, this here's Gud," the grann, "and ol' Tiver over there. They ain't much on brains, but they more'n make up for it in brawn." The introduction had been made for the obvious goal of unnerving whoever was their target, and Maz didn't doubt that it worked on any average citizen. But he wasn't average, or a citizen.

"I suppose that there is a fine for 'intruding' on your territory?" Maz inquired rhetorically, hoping Dostan wouldn't speak with that accent again. But he did.

"Sharp one you are!" The brunette human clapped his hands in mock excitement, employing a paltry attempt at psychological warfare. These thugs were almost stereotypical in their approach to a mugging, a fact which Maz didn't particularly appreciate if he had to deal with them. "So, here's how it's going to work:" the trio shifted, readying themselves for the shakedown that was to commence, according to their well practiced routine, "you're gonna give us everything you got on you, clothes included, and we won't put you down fer' good. Sound good?"

"Sure thing," Maz responded tilting his head to one side until it popped before doing the same in the other direction. Lifting up the grey cap to eye level, he held it up there for several seconds to get their full attention. Twisting the hat slowly, as though about to reveal some kind of secret hidden within, he diverted their focus momentarily onto the article of clothing. Seeing his chance, the clone flicked the cap backwards into the face of Tiver, surprising the alien.

Launching forward, Maz slammed his elbow into Gud's sternum, bowing him over with the unexpected force. Twisting to the side, he dodged a reactionary punch from the human which impacted without affect against Gud's tensed forearm. Stepping forward, the clone soldier decked Doston in the cheek with enough strength to topple him to the dirty ground like a bag of laundry. Continuing onward, Maz swung around in a pivot kick that met the charging Tiver in the collar of his neck, his body flung forward by their conflicting momentums and landing heavily on his back.

Gud made to grab him with both arms from behind, a maneuver that would make the off duty stormtrooper completely at the grann's mercy. Ducking beneath the meaty appendages, Maz drove his foot back up to connect the vulnerable inner thigh of the farthest leg. The soft tissue wasn't nearly as honed as the rest of him and so succumbed easily to the attack, bringing the triclops down with it to roll on the floor in pain and unable to immediately act due to the stricken nerves seizing up in a crippling cramp.

Seeing Dolstan reach into the back of his pants line, Maz stomped his heel into the muggers shoulder, dislocating it forward with a wet/dull '_thok'_, right alongside an accompanying scream of agony from the recipient. Pulling the concealed vibro shiv out himself, Maz twirled it around his fingers for a second to get a feel for the blade. It was a bit too heavy on the backend side, but he didn't plan on throwing it any time soon so that wouldn't be much of a problem. Tiver had just managed to get back to his feet, surprisingly swift on his feet about it. Extracting his own blade from under his belt, the weequay brandished it back and forth like the motion was some kind of deterrent.

Taking a step towards him, Maz allowed a swing to pass within an inch and a half of his chin as he jerked backward. Now with the opening already made by the atrocious move, the clone brought his appropriated blade up and over Tiver's arm, hooking around the wrist with the flat side of the knife. Jerking it sideways, Maz jabbed two fingers into the vulnerable set of bulging veins, a notable weakness on the weequay physiology. Effectively making the entire arm go numb from the force of the strike, it was laughably easy for the soldier to pluck the charged blade from his attacker's unresponsive fingers and bash the hilt into Tiver's temple, rendering him unconscious.

Gud had once more regained his feet, albeit jerkily and lopsided due to the still present cramp that was afflicting the meat of his leg. Bugling with effort and anger, the grann swiped at him with his left arm. Lifting both forearms, Maz blocked the blow with a slight grunt, not expecting the surprising strength behind it. The next attack came in the form of a right arm crashing down from overhead. Grabbing at the wrist as it descended, Maz guided it to the side as he stepped in the opposite direction. Twisting towards his left made Gud temporarily unable to strike and an easy target for an uppercut to where the ribs and then a hook in the same spot.

These unfortunately seemed to do little and the grann had plenty of fight left in him. Interlocking both fists, the coffee skinned alien again swung his arms in a sideways arc, but it was too much for Maz to block and he was sent stumbling back from the blow, ears ringing slightly from the force of it. Shaking his head to clear it of the pops of light that had sprang into life, the clone only just saw the next straight punch. He veered to the side, but it still caught him in the chin and his entire jaw felt like electricity had been run through it, Cursing to himself, Maz lifted the vibroknife he still held, spinning to wield it in a backhanded style.

Stepping backward to avoid another hooking punch, Maz kept up the retreat under Gud's increasingly frenzied onslaught, ducking around the untrained blows for the most part, only receiving glancing hits. As though detached from himself, his knowledge of the grann people played out in front of his eyes like a data cube, specifically their anatomy. There were five places on the male grann's body that would result in immediate incapacitation, though only two of them were guaranteed to be nonlethal and they were, of course, the hardest to reach. Still, he didn't want to have to answer for killing anyone on his first day of vacation and he really did have the training and experience to perform only disarming maneuvers, so it wasn't too much of a chore.

His mind snapped back to the present just as Gud threw a particularly vicious haymaker that was completely dodged, leaving the triclops off kilter for a vital heartbeat (or two in the case of his species). Taking a single step forward, Maz slid around the tall alien like water and effortlessly drew the edge of his knife along top of his hip, slicing through leather and undershirt and into the equally leather-like skin beneath. His work there complete, the cloned fighter hopped back to avoid being clobbered by a clumsy but very angry counterattack, keeping his eyes on the shallow cut. It lay right over the grann equivalent of intestines, a non-vital but barely defended target that would cause a great deal of pain if it were actually struck, something the protective flesh prevented fairly well.

Ducking under a one-two combo, Maz jabbed with his second knuckles directly into the open wound, further separating the sides of the gash. This elicited another bellow of pain which managed to draw grimaces of pain from both Maz and the still downed Dostan, the latter unable to clutch his ears due to the injured arm. Knowing that now was the time to end the brawl, Maz aimed a kick towards the cut, but his toes missed and instead impacted against the grann's thigh which was decidedly not a weak spot. Moving faster than ever, Gud reached out and latched one of his four fingered hands onto Maz's foot and jerked him forward, yanking the clone clear off of his feet and onto his back. Seeing more sparks, he tried to pull his leg away from the vice grip but found that it was unyielding and the pressure on his appendage was increased to the point of sharp but halting pain.

Realizing that the vibro knife had slipped from his grasp when he had fallen, Maz scrambled his hands along the ground blindly for anything at all to use, a weapon or a distraction. Nothing presented itself and he was left to stare up at the enraged grann as it twisted his foot again, prompting the clone trooper to shriek in pain. Thinking quickly and desperately, Maz caught a reflection of metal over the shoulder of his assailant and briefly though it was some kind of weapon. But he realized that it was just the remote still hanging in the air, still projecting instructions for him to follow. An idea popped into his head and he acted without anytime for second guesses.

"Remote!" He barked out, shuttering the pain in his leg for just a crucial second. "Reroute back to 'Star Tours', urgent!" The addition of 'urgent' meant that it couldn't waste anytime at all, even if he wasn't following directly behind it. True to form, the miniscule orb of a droid ceased its projecting and turned a hundred and eighty degrees and zoomed forward like an aircar, colliding in full with one of Gud's eye-stalks. This caused the grann to once again holler as the agony of ocular damage filled his brain, releasing Maz's foot absently to clutch fruitlessly at his eye.

It was everything Maz had hoped for and more, but he knew better than to marvel at his good luck. Rolling backwards onto his feet, he tensed his body in a sprinters position for a moment before cannoning forward and dealing a direct gut punch on the brutish grann. Not stopping there, he proceeded to hammer away at the exposed midsection for several seconds before he drove his fist as hard as he could into the wound from earlier, finally succeeding in exploiting the weakness and injuring the intestines. They wouldn't be overtly harmed and would be perfectly fine in a day or so, but for the moment it was too much pain added onto the eye injury and Gud crumpled forward, hind section arcing in the air for a second before he totally collapsed to his side and lost consciousness.

Breathing quickly through his nose, Maz surveyed the samage he had wrought while maintaing a fighting stance, just in case. But his three would-be muggers were without exception incapacitated. Tiver and Gud were out cold and Dostan was whimpering pathetically while nursing at the hideously angled shoulder. Letting the adrenaline bleed off slowly so as to avoid a crash, Maz body checked the two senseless thugs and pocketed the handful of credits he found, his rightful spoils of the fight. He also kept Dostan's knife, appreciating the need for some kind of weapon if such an even happened again. He left the human bandit alone for the most part, only kicking him in the injured arm a little, to prove the point.

Swiping his borrowed cap from the dirty ground, Maz called for his remote to come back and redirected it back to his waiting hotel. Giving the trio of thugs on last casual nod, he walked onwards as though nothing had happened, and truly nothing had. He had been striving to be lenient them; if he hadn't held back, he could have killed all of them in just a few seconds, quickly and efficiently. But he wanted this to be a vacation devoid of police paperwork, not to mention having to file a report to his prick of a superior officer back at S-49. The less he had to do with that up jumped son of a moderately well off politician the better.

The rest of his trip was almost disappointingly devoid of further altercations and he was soon standing in front of the twin doors of a decent looking establishment. The remote ceased projecting the holographic arrow and switched to follow mode, hovering a bit above and behind his shoulder. Maz strode through the automatic doors and stopped again to observe the layout of the lobby. There were twin turbolifts at the back of the small entryway as well as a cramped lounge area where he could see a throng of various species huddled around a game board, either playing sabaac or holo-monsters. The clerk counter was vacant of clerk at the moment, but he sidled up to it anyway.

Waiting for about a minute without any form of pay off, Maz grew annoyed with the lack of service and called out for the receptionist, still to no avail. Seeing an ajar door behind the counter, he craned his head to get a view inside. There, leaning back in a metal folding chair and a pornographic mag dropped next to him, slept a weedy looking twi'lek, the forest green of his skin made shiny by cheap lighting above him. Looking for something to throw, Maz's eyes alighted on data pad , wasting no time in chucking it at the slumbering clerk.

Smacked in the side by the projectile, the twi'lek jerked awake, almost tumbling over in his seat but managing to right himself with impressive reflexes for someone half awake. Blinking rapidly, he yawned heavily, one of those yawns that stretches your jaw until it hurts and persists for several seconds. Picking up the data pad curiously, he looked back out the door and at last saw Maz standing there with arms crossed impatiently. Jumping into professionalism, he rushed forward, closing the door behind him and managing to get one of his lekku caught in the horizontally shifting portal. Yelping in pain and surprise, the clerk struggled with the door controls for a few seconds while the waiting clone clasped a palm over his face in weariness.

Finally freed from the ambushing doorway, the twi'lek again faced Maz with a smile, tenderly holding the slightly squashed lekku with both hands.

"Welcome to the Gre'enian hotel. Do you have a reservation?" The huttese was natural but strangely accented, from where, Maz did not know.

"Room one three one," Maz responded simply, not wishing to protract the conversation any longer than was necessary. The clerk consulted a console hidden behind the rim of the counter before half turning to pull an ID chit from a rack of identical units.

"Here you go," he said as he handed the chit over to the stormtrooper, "that is the key for the door; be sure to return it when you check out. If you have any questions, please contact us with the console in your room. Just take one of the turbolifts to the fourth floor and you should be able to find your room pretty easily."

"Thanks," Maz responded curtly, already turning and walking towards the two lifts. The twi'lek muttered something under his breath and returned to his dirty magazine, Maz only rolling his eyes at that and stepping onto the platform which was helpfully already at ground level. Spending the few seconds it took for the turbolift to reach the fourth floor in silence, Maz maintained that silence as he traipsed down the beige colored hallway, looking back and forth at the alternating doors on either side of him. Eventually, he made it to 131 and quickly swiped his chit across the scanner, needing to do it twice more before it accepted the ID and blinked green, signaling the lock releasing.

Opening the door, he stepped into his room and let the lights come to life automatically. It was a small room, lightly furnished and with an adjoining bathroom. Almost everything was either metal or a plastic of some sort, though the bathroom floor looked to be tile. Two windows were positioned on either side of the single bed, thin curtains hanging limply over them. The sheets provided were paper-thin and a worn out white color, folded somewhat neatly at the base of the bed, a single pillow at the other end.

A domestic console with complimenting chair was stationed directly to the right of the door, neatly tucked into the corner. The blue screen was already flashing softly to indicate a received message. Sitting down in front of the terminal, Maz keyed in his personal imperial personnel password to access his mailbox and opened up an official looking note from Resource Department. Almost all of it was a copied and pasted duplicate of what every soldier on leave received, but one line did jump out at him and he had to read it several times before the meaning truly sank in.

"-days not taken have accumulated towards this leave, resulting in **three standard months **and **four standard days** of vacation time which is expected to be used in whole."

Three months? Three **months**!? He hadn't been her for an hour before getting into a alley brawl and he was being forced to stay on this planet for…three months? Feeling his bottled up anger welling uncontrollably, Maz willingly let it out in the best accumulation of his frustrations he could manage.

"Son of A **BI**-"

**AN:** This will not just be a oneshot. Maz here is going to have quite the adventure ahead of him in just a few short days, making his stay on Macellica go from moderately irritating to genuine fight for survival. And who know, there might just be a few other planets involved in what is sure to be one of the greatest conflicts the galaxy will never know. And just who is Maz? You'll have to keep reading to find out, though I promise that he is an established character in the Star Wras universe..

Please read and review however you see fit. I'm not very picky.


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